


Promises

by FairytalesOfForever



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Screwed Up, Angst, Drama, Family, Gen, Philip is angry, Post-Reynolds Pamphlet, They need a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairytalesOfForever/pseuds/FairytalesOfForever
Summary: Among the wreckage left behind by the Reynolds Pamphlet, Philip confronts his father. He is a poet; he knows what words can create. Only now has he learned how much they can destroy.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Philip Hamilton (1782-1801)
Kudos: 35





	Promises

Alexander Hamilton had never known a space as well as he now knew his office. He knew the knothole on the underside of his desk; the aged stains on the ceiling (a great view of them, sleeping on the floor gave you); the chair’s weak back-right leg; and the bookshelves...those cursed bookshelves. He had arranged the books by title, color, size, topic, his own preference, even the years they were published, but the work was mindless enough that it did nothing as a distraction. And besides, the dust-coated legal advice in their yellowing pages was what had brought him here; it said nothing useful about what happened when one didn’t break the law, but broke everything else. 

For most of his life, he had considered his racing mind a blessing. It set him above his peers and spurred him on to the station he had now attained; it enabled him to shape systems and to wield words in a way that no one else had. (Indeed, and lucky for them that they hadn’t). But now it seemed nothing less than a hellish curse, for the only thing in it was a hurricane―not the one he’d tried to escape, but the one he’d created. 

Eliza and the children were leaving, going to stay with her father. Likely, they would be gone any time now; he had gleaned that much from the curt letter slid under his office door. It was singed on the edges and stained with tears. He put a hand over the pocket it rested in. She never used as many words as he did, but he often thought that if she’d wanted to, she could use them better. 

The door squeaked open. It was hardly an obnoxious creak, and probably would have gone unnoticed but for the fact that the door had been closed so long, he’d forgotten that it did that. 

Philip stood in the otherwise empty doorway, his expression unreadable. 

“I expect you’re heading off, then?” Alexander asked, despising how weary his voice sounded. 

There was no reply. His heart sank to settle like a stone in his stomach. 

Philip stared at him for a moment. Fifteen, he was already taller than his father, and a brilliant young man; he would likely be headed to college in the next year or two. He had enough of his mother’s mind that while the two of them shared a love of words, Philip saw their beauty while his father saw their power. The conversations they had (and oh, how he should have cherished them more) were usually insightful, enlightening, and never ran stale. This silence was new, and it was horrible. 

Finally, Philip broke it. “Why?” His voice shook, then shattered on the edge of the word. 

Oh, as if he hadn’t asked himself that more times than he cared to recall. But he couldn’t say he didn’t know. “I misjudged the situation,” he said, as calmly as he could manage, but he knew how battered he sounded. 

Philip pressed his lips together tensely, and suddenly Alexander realized the boy was making every effort not to swear at his father. Something inside of him cracked. 

“That’s not what I mean,” the boy—well, young man—said. 

“I had to choose,” Alexander said numbly. “I had to do something. They would say something, unless…”

Philip cut him off. “I thought so much of you. You never hide what you feel, what you think...we all thought we knew you. None of this makes sense. It has to make sense. It has to.” Suddenly he was pleading, still wanting nothing more than to be able to trust his father, to hold onto the respect that was the foundation of his world. 

It was the one thing Alexander could not give him. 

“It was an act of political sacrifice,” he managed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as though he had a headache. It was a habit that he had noticed Philip picking up as well, when he was frustrated or tired. “They were accusing me…”

“I know,” Philip spat, angry again. “Rumors, I know. I’m a teenager! Rumors are everywhere. They’re stupid, and if you ignore them, they go away. Even I know that. Rumors,” he said forcefully, “might be something you expect and fight when you’re my age. But you’re supposed to leave them behind!” 

“This was a serious matter,” Alexander said, his eyes fixed on the top of his desk, tracing the lines of the grain. “It would have much greater effects than the rumors you’ve dealt with.” 

Philip shook his head vehemently. “It doesn’t matter what they’re saying; it doesn’t deserve a reply. We aren’t even two presidents into this nation that you promised you would make right for me, and what’s supposed to be the government is turning into a schoolyard!” 

You promised. Had he? Had he really? Had he once retained so much hope for what their country and their lives could be, that he would promise? He shrank back into the chair, bracing his hands against the top of his desk. “I thought I was,” he said. “I thought I was protecting you.” (And was that ever a lie, but he, too, was desperate to make it make sense.) 

“How?” Philip burst out. “How? Do you realize what they’re saying? Taking that God-forsaken pamphlet and shoving it in my face? The little kids don’t understand why we’re leaving. Someday you’ll get to explain this to them. And Alex...Alex is eleven! Do you have any idea what kids are like at that age? They’ll crucify him!” He blinked hard and swiped away tears with a tensed fist. “Did you know,” he said, his voice shaking, “that Alex was asking if he could talk to a lawyer about changing his name?”

“Oh, Alex,” Alexander sighed brokenly before he could stop himself. He curled his hands around one another to stop their shaking. The boy was already so like him, in looks and in temperament, and he had once worn it with such pride...“No.” 

“Oh, yes,” Philip snarled, tears rolling down his face. “You haven’t protected us, you’ve abandoned us. But hey, at least you got your debt plan through, so what does it matter?” he added with biting sarcasm. “You cared more about it than us, anyway. You always did.”

“No, of course not!” Alexander protested, but even then, the memories needled him. What had started this whole mess, after all? 

Philip reached up to touch the bridge of his nose, but then curled his hand into a fist and resolutely crossed his arms over his chest. “And in case you need to be reminded of what you’ve done to Mom...well, she thinks she needs to be strong for us. And someone needs to be strong for her. So I’m standing by her, no matter what happens.” 

Tears stung Alexander’s eyes then. “You’re such a good boy,” he rasped, the words catching in his throat. “I have always loved you. All of you.” 

Venom rose in Philip’s eyes. “No, you haven’t,” he said coldly. “You spent quite a bit of time loving someone else.” 

“It wasn’t love!” Alexander beseeched his son. “It was...desperation, perhaps, but never love.”

“That’s worse!” Philip cried. “Then it was for nothing! Then you didn’t just break promises to us, you lied to her, too.” He brushed his hair back from his face with fingers trembling as if shocked. The pain in his eyes was too raw for his father to meet them. Once, Alexander had been ready to sacrifice everything he had to absorb that pain. Never had he dreamt he’d become the cause. 

“It was like...like it wasn’t real,” he said weakly. “Like I was falling asleep, like a dream where I was free from everything, helping someone...and then that freedom was just a lure to trap me. But even then it was a nightmare. Like falling asleep…” he repeated brokenly.

“I don’t think there was much sleeping involved,” Philip retorted. He pulled back his shoulders and held his head high, the sunlight from the window gleaming in his eyes, his freckles thrown into deep shadow. A strangled gasp caught in Alexander’s throat. Suddenly he saw the one person who might have stopped him before his pen touched the page.

“I’m not even sixteen yet,” said Philip, his expression shut down. “I was planning to tell Theo that I like her. I’ve been working on applications for King’s, but you probably hadn’t even noticed. Angie should’ve had a piano recital tomorrow, not that you would be there. But if you won’t, I will.” He turned towards the door and rested a hand on its frame. “I’ll be the man of the family now. I guess I’ll have to be strong enough. I always thought you were.” 

He left. 

The door squeaked closed. 

Into the silence, Alexander murmured, “I always used to say that someday, you would blow us all away…”

**Author's Note:**

> Will I write something with multiple chapters one of these days? Doubtful. Plot is much less fun than torturing my angst children. On a different note, watching the Hamilfilm, I noticed Jefferson showing Philip the Reynolds Pamphlet, and I couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction might have been, or if he ever spoke to his father about it.


End file.
